ChapterNine
Mallet woke in the grip of erotic dreams.A lush, ripe body entwined with his.A sensual voice begged him notto stop while his own voice murmured over and over, “Mine!You are mine!”The woman smelled of raspberry and lilacs.
He wanted this dream lover.He wanted her honorably; he wanted her completely; he wanted her any way he could get her.He came fully awake with a jolt of shock.Fool.Georgiana had never been his by any means, and he knew she never would be.
He squeezed his eyes shut, but he didn’t see the face of a pretty young woman.A more mature face, illuminated by intelligence and masterfully resolute, haunted his nights.
The same face haunted his days as well.Lord, but she would make a good general.He half expected to find her at his bedside.
“Vexatious woman would try to feed me broth and chaff my hands.”
“You should be so blessed.”Harley’s voice, hoarse with sleep, responded.“Do y’need a bit of water?Perhaps some of the powders?”
“None of Peabody’s powders.I haven’t needed them in a week.Let me recover from the journey home.I’ll take some water though.”
“It don’t matter to me none unless you plan to stay up and keep an honest man from his bed.”
He took the water, watched Harley situate himself on a makeshift pallet near the fire in the outer room, and closed his own eyes.Sleep escaped him.Long after Harley, honest man or not, found his sleep, Mallet lay awake consumed by thoughts of raspberry tarts.
Fool.He wanted her still.Fool.The word echoed in his head deep into the night while he listened to his servant snore and the fire crackle.
* * *
Lady Georgiana calledat noon the next day.She had Chef Henri’s beef broth in her hands and tired, anxious lines around her eyes.
“Very good, Mr.Harley.Eunice Williams and I shall be but a moment in the kitchen.”
“No need for that—” Harley began.
“Nonsense.Your time is needed above stairs.My cooking may not be up to London standards, but I warrant I can keep your master fed.”
She swept into the kitchen, looked at the panic on her companion’s face, and felt confidence drain from her as rapidly as water from a broken cup.
“Calm yourself, Eunice.I am merely taking stock.”She set the crock of broth down on a plain but finely oiled table and tried to settle her racing thoughts.
The Duchess always insisted that the key to maintaining one’s station lay in always looking like you knew what you were doing—underlings must never see hesitation.The Duchess, of course, viewed all of England, except perhaps the royal princes, as underlings to the Haydens.Her daughter may lack real competence below stairs, but she could make a good show of it.
“I will manage,” she insisted.“You may take your needlework to the parlor.”
With Eunice gone, panic returned.The cold reality was that she had no idea what to do.She really wanted to see Andrew and nothing else.Her attempt at baking the day before had resulted in misshapen, barely edible tarts and a disordered, flour-covered kitchen, the remnants of which were still visible.
Baking wouldn’t work.Georgiana spent several previous days devouring what information she could find about convalescing patients.She looked in books and listened to wisdom from Mrs.Potter.She had concluded that a weak patient required broth.She herself sipped beef broth daily at Mr.Peabody’s advice, and she was determined it would strengthen Andrew.She certainly felt stronger.
She examined the crock she had carried from Helsington warily.Henri made even beef broth sound like an engineering marvel, but now that it was here, it didn’t look threatening.She believed even she could manage to transfer the broth from crock to kettle and heat it.When it began to bubble, she felt the thrill of triumph.
Just as quickly her spirits sank.She didn’t know what to do next.She opened cupboards and crocks, bustled about, wrote notes on foolscap, and made a great show of business whenever Harley entered the kitchen, until she finally located a few slices of onion and some garlic from the larder.She added them to the broth, soon filling the house with savory smells.Henri would faint.
Georgiana could think of nothing else to do.She glanced up at the ceiling and wondered what new excuse she could find to stay in his house.
“Won’t wake ‘im up that way.Likely to sleep all day.”
She jumped at Harley’s voice and whirled around.He stood two feet behind her, in the doorway.“Good,” she said inadequately.“Sleep heals.”
“I’m an honest enough man to admit your cookingis better than mine.Are you going to make bread?Could use some warm bread.”Harley stomped up the stairs—where she longed to be.
No need to be a fool.She sent Eunice Williams to the baker and added a short list for the green grocer as well.Mr.Mallet’s cupboards were bare.
“Tell them to put it all on Mr.Mallet’s account,” she said.One mustn’t bruise pride more than we need to.“Wait!”On second thought, it might be useful to have him in my debt.“Put them on my account.”
